Part 3The Long-Silent Woman by My Side

The clock struck ten.

On the dining table, the birthday dinner I’d made for Toby had been reheated for the third time.

Toby had gone from bouncing with excitement, to anxiously peering out the window, to now, curled up in the corner of the sofa, his little head nodding with sleep. He was still clutching the drawing he had made for his mom.

"Daddy, did Mommy forget?" he mumbled, rubbing his sleepy eyes, his voice thick with disappointment.

"Mommy's probably just busy with work..." I said, the excuse tasting like ash in my mouth. I didn't even believe it myself.

The hands on the clock ticked mercilessly past midnight.

His birthday was over.

My heart sank into the darkness with the night. I stared at the plate of sweet and sour ribs, now misshapen and dull from being reheated so many times. I remembered when we were first married; even though she wouldn't cook, she would at least look at this dish when I served it and say, "It's delicious."

When did even that small, feigned warmth disappear? This marriage was just like this dish—spoiled, sticky, and giving off a sickening stench.

I called her one last time.

It rang for a long time before she picked up. The background was a chaotic symphony of voices and clattering cookware, a stark contrast to the dead silence of my home.

"Hello?" Her voice was sharp with the impatience of being busy.

"Eva, where are you? It was Toby's birthday. You promised..."

"Something came up. I can't make it back." She cut me off without a hint of apology, as if she were canceling a casual coffee date.

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. "What could possibly be more important than your son's birthday?"

"Jules needs help calibrating the equipment for the livestream. I can't leave," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then her tone shifted, becoming demanding. "By the way, that batch of black truffles you got—they're still at the bistro, right? Bring them over now. Ross needs them for his next dish."

I was stunned into silence, then let out a cold, bitter laugh.

That batch of top-grade black truffles... I had pulled so many strings, gone through hell and back, and used nearly the last of my cash flow to get them. I was banking on them for a new signature dish, a final, desperate attempt to save my restaurant.

"Those truffles are for—" I started, trying to explain how important they were to me.

"I know you got them," she interrupted again, her voice dripping with undisguised contempt. "But that kind of ingredient is wasted on you. Its true potential can only be realized in the hands of a real chef, like Ross. Stop wasting time and bring them over. We need them now."

Wasted on me?

In her eyes, all my effort, all my passion, was just a waste? And whatever Ross needed was simply her command?

The dam of resentment, anger, and humiliation that had been building not just all night, but for years, finally burst.

My voice trembled, but the words came out with chilling clarity.

"Evelyn! Have you no shame?!"

I slammed the phone down. The tears finally came, hot and furious, but I bit my lip, refusing to make a sound.

A small, warm hand gently touched my cheek.

Toby was awake, standing in front of me. His own face was streaked with tears, but he looked at me with a solemnity far beyond his years.

"Daddy, don't cry," he said. "Mommy's bad. She made Daddy sad. I don't want her anymore either."

My son's words were like a splash of ice water, instantly dousing the flames of my rage and replacing them with a cold, hard clarity.

The family I had fought so desperately to hold together was, in Eva's eyes, something she could cast aside at a moment's notice.

Could my son ever truly be happy in a home like this?

I took a deep breath, wiped my tears, and pulled Toby into a hug. In that moment, my decision was made.

I stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and took down a dusty folder. Inside were our marriage certificate and our family's official documents. I placed them on the table, my gaze calm.

Since she was so busy being a mother to someone else's child, my son and I didn't need her anymore.